“There was a man!” Mrs Bowldler ran her
eyes over her protectors and turned them, with a slow
shudder, towards the window. “I seen him
distinctly. It sent my blood all of a cream.”

“A man? What was he doing?” they
asked.

“He was a-looking in boldly through the window
. . .” Mrs Bowldler covered her face with
her hands.

“Well?” Fancy prompted her impatiently,
while Captain Cai stepped out to the front door in
quest of the apparition.

“He had on a great black hat. I thought
’twas Death itself come after me!”

While Mrs Bowldler paused to take breath and record
her further emotions, Captain Cai, reaching the front
door, threw it open, looked out into the roadway,
and recoiled with a start. Close on his right
a man in black stood peering, as Mrs Bowldler had
described, but now into the drawing-room window; shielding,
for a better view, the brim of a tall hat which Captain
Cai recognised with an exclamation—­

“Mr Philp!”

Mr Philp withdrew his gaze, turned about and nodded
without embarrassment.

There was a finality about this which held Captain
Cai gravelled for a moment. It hardly seemed
to admit of a reply. At length he said—­

“Well, you’ve frightened a woman into
hysterics by it, if that’s any consolation.”

“There, now! Mrs Bosenna?”

“No, it was not Mrs Bosenna. . . . By the
way, that reminds me. I’ve changed my mind
over that hat.”

“Hey?”

“I find I’ve a use for it, after all.”

But at this moment ’Bias appeared in the doorway
behind him.

“Seen anything?” demanded ’Bias.

“Interduce me,” said Mr Philp with majestic
calm.

Captain Cai, caught in this act of secret traffic,
blushed in his confusion, but obeyed.

“’Bias,” said he, “this is
the gentleman that caused the mischief inside.
His name’s Philp, and he’d like to make
your acquaintance.”

BOOK II.

CHAPTER IX.

FIRST SUSPICIONS.

It was August, and the weather for weeks had been
superb. It was also the week of Troy’s
annual regatta, and a whole fleet of yachts lay anchored
in the little harbour, getting ready their riding lights.
Two or three belated ones—­like large white
moths in the grey offing—­ had yet to make
the rendezvous, and were creeping towards it with all
canvas piled: for the wind—­light and
variable all day—­had now at sunset dropped
almost to a flat calm.